


Self-Destructive Gasoline

by Quixotism



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Angst, Depression, Eventual Beyond Spoilers, Functioning without your other half, M/M, Star Trek: Into Darkness Spoilers, What-If
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-31
Updated: 2016-07-31
Packaged: 2018-07-28 09:28:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7635004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quixotism/pseuds/Quixotism
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The life and times of Jim Kirk and his daemon. </p><p>( or how a reflection gets blurred without a mirror )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Self-Destructive Gasoline

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a "what if" exploration of Jim . . . but with daemons! Because I love daemons. But it's less about daemons and more about Jim and (to some extent) Spock. Other people are here. Maybe.

_“You cannot change who you are, only what you do.”_  
\- Philip Pullman, The Golden Compass.

* * *

Daemons are a reflection of the soul, people said. Well, privately said. Many alien species do not have daemons, have no mirror to which one could peer into their depths. So calling daemons part of their soul would be saying other aliens are soulless.

( it’s a common xenophobic opinion. Jim had always hated it and Aurel always looked more ruffled when it was ever spoken )

Politicians often have reptiles and army men have wild animals with steady yellow eyes. Teachers often find themselves with domestic animals, to set the ease of the classroom. There were stereotypes, there were debates, there were researches articles spanning from the very beginning of humanity. But all agree that there’s an intrinsic quality to their daemon, something not easily explained or penned to humanity’s whim and knowledge. 

Jim hadn’t paid attention to any of it. Aurel found it hilarious, to say the least. And having a daemon made it easier to get laid in cheap bars and dives. Nothing beats having your own soul be your wingman. In Aurel’s case, the wing part was quite literal. A silver-throated tanager, Aurel enjoyed the attention, puffing up his chest when women cooed and admired his bright golden plumage. True, tanagers were no peacocks or macaws, but they were rare. Jim doesn’t dwell on it. Aurel was small, easy to smuggle. They were carefree spirits. They were always free of rules, concepts and hangups. 

( except the ones they hoard quietly in their chest, when Jim calls his mother on his birthday and a glass remains on the counter untouched ) 

Nero happened. Suddenly Jim was a Captain. And then he was working _with_ Spock, instead of trying to run circles around the mad bastard. Cheating no longer worked. Whoever met Spock clearly did not know the man well enough. Infallible logic? More like stubborn idiot, just like Jim. The clarity of that insight blew him away at times. Here was a man who couldn’t be more _like_ him but chooses _not_ to be.

( how do you choose not to feel? )

Spock was an oddity among his race. Vulcans do not have daemons, but Spock was half-human. And he had a _daemon_. A large, lumbering wolf named Cain. People don’t know what to make of them. Wolf daemons were common. There were thousands of them. Even Spock’s daemon doesn’t look that unusual at first glance, his shaggy grey coat gleaming under the white lights, but Jim always got the feeling that Cain could look into someone’s eyes and see just _exactly_ what kind of person they were.

( reflections of the soul indeed )

( but like he said, Jim didn’t get hung up over the philosophy of daemons and souls )

( until he did )

* * *

Nobody had warned him that Starfleet would suck out his soul. 

To be fair, they were speaking mostly of the metaphorical soul, of the five years drifting in space, of crazy aliens and the unknown, of office bureaucracy and paranoid admirals. Bones had a warning for everything. Hell, he had a _book_ full of it.   
But no one told him about dying. And no one told him about coming back to _life_. 

Jim had locked Aurel out of the warp chamber. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t drag Aurel into the well of mistakes that he had made. Couldn’t make Aurel pay for all that he had to pay. It was a wrenching of metal in his veins, as he moved like a gutted machine, wires and sparks fraying in his heart and mind. And he died. He died as Aurel unravelled and Cain howled and Spock – _Spock_ –

He wasn’t expecting a wake up call. 

As Spock left the room and Bones continued his tests, Jim finally glanced around to look for that familiar gold plumage and that shrill voice. 

“Hey,” he croaked out, not trusting his voice, “Where’s . . . Aurel?”

Tragedy bled from Bones’ eyes. Which is just as well. 

Just as well.

Just as –

Oh _god_. 

Bones had to stop him from hyperventilating. For the next one week, Jim hovered between life and existence, scrambling for the one thing that had always been at his side, for something he never defined because definitions were for _losers_ and they had been _more_ than that, in _every way_ –

Jim wakes up, feeling something fuzzy under his hand. He turns his head to the right and see Cain, Spock’s quiet baritone voiced wolf, that sounded like someone who belonged to the radios of old. His hand was on Cain’s head.

He was touching someone else’s daemon.

His throat caught, lumps of words and feelings knotting together as he looked at Spock. Really looked at the man. If anyone else had touched a daemon, they would be arrested. Billed and fined. You could not simply _reach_ out and _touch_ a man’s soul after all.

And after all.

His fingers brush over the grey fur. It looked threadbare, like Cain was flickering around the edges. He remembered the piteous death howl, the scrape of claws against glass. But more than that, Jim remembered Spock’s face and little else. 

“I couldn’t touch him,” he murmured.

“Jim?” 

“I couldn’t touch him. Or you. We reached and we couldn’t. I left him there,” and he was babbling, Jim knew that, but the knot had loosened and the deluge sprang from a guilty conscience. He had been warned. Told. He ignored it all. Everyone was right and _Aurel_ , his beautiful proud Aurel was _gone_ –

“How could you bring me back?” Jim begged, “How could you _do_ this to me?”

( how could you want me back? )

There was no answer and Jim squeezed his eyes shut, furious with himself. Furious with Spock. Bones. Everyone. _Damn them_. 

And yet. His hand remained on Cain’s head, feeling the quiet heat from the wolf. No one moved.

And Jim Kirk lost his reflection.


End file.
